


Let Me Out

by mikovich



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Mental Institutions, basically them in a mental hospital
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 03:25:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2333504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikovich/pseuds/mikovich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How are you feeling?"<br/>"Fine." He paused. "Okay." He frowned. "Shitty as fuck, actually."<br/> "Now, Ian, they tell me you don't participate in group?"<br/>The redhead crossed his arms over his chest like a barrier. "Because I'm not fucking crazy."</p><p>Or where Ian and Mickey meet in a group meeting at a mental institution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Fucking Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about this for a week tbh.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine." He paused. "Okay." He frowned. "Shitty as fuck, actually."

The therapist nodded, chewing the pen that seemed to constantly be between her lips. "Now, Ian, they tell me you don't participate in group?"

The redhead crossed his arms over his chest like a barrier. "Because I'm not fucking crazy." He slouched further down into the cracked leather chair that was being held together by silver duct tape; his legs stretched out far in front of him like wet noodles.

"No one said you were crazy, Ian."

"Then why am I in a damn nut house?"

The woman bit her lip, flipping through her file labled ' _Ian C. Gallagher: Patient 492'_. "Because someone out there loves you and knows you need help."

Ian rolled his eyes and crossed his arms tighter, sinking impossibly lower in his chair.

She sighed, being a therapist for teens with chemical imbalances was never easy but Ian always tried to make it impossible for her.  
"What's wrong with group?"

"First of all I sit next to a girl who thinks she's a fucking cat so when its her turn all she does is meow. And they actually tell us to nod like we fucking understand the little shit." _Rebecca A. Tennor: Patient 437_. Ian complained about her often.

"What else?"

"There's another girl- I don't know what her deal is but she calls me Red. Its so damn annoying that I swear I'm gonna steal a spork at the next meal time just to stab it in her neck." _Grace Ortiz: Patient 338_. She often talks about a boy she calls Red during her sessions; she always claims that they're best friends. The therapist jots in the margins of Ian's report that they are in fact not friends. 

Ian's nose was scrunched up; after spending one whole month with Ian, the woman gathered that this look always meant that Ian had to say something but he wouldn't unless you pried it from him with a metaphorical crowbar. 

"That's all that bothers you about group?"

Ian sniffed, not budging. 

"Ian. Help me, help you."

Ian rolled his eyes. He's pretty sure he's heard that phrase over a million times.

She flipped back a couple pages in his file. "Would you tell Fiona?" When Ian just moved his head to the right, looking out the window, she brought her finger down to the next name on the list. _Phillip Gallagher (Half brother) Notes- Do not mention that patient is Phillip Gallagher's half brother. Patient lays trust in one Phillip Gallagher._ "What about Phillip?"

"Lip." Ian corrected, grumbling with his chin on his chest.

 "I'll take that as a yes." She stood and leaned over her desk, dialing the number printed next to Lip's name into the keypad of the white dirty hospital phone. She held out her arm across the desk, the swirled white cord extended towards Ian.

He sat up, grabbing the phone from her hand and trying his best not to touch her. It rang in his ear and his fingers twitched around the plastic. He hasn't spoken to Lip since... Since everything changed; since the incident.

As it rang, his eyes traveled to the white, scuffed linoleum. He knew she was starting at him with that _face_. She always have him that look that said she felt sorry for the ruined boy that sat in front of her every Thursday and Sunday at 12:30. 

He never spoke to her, never really told her anything or even the truth. He had built up walls since coming to this shit hole of a medical center. He wasn't crazy and that was the only fucking thing in his life he had to prove. 

"Hey its Lip. Leave a message or GFY." _BEEP_. 

"H-hey." He stuttered then cleared his throat. "Hey, Lip."

His therapist snapped her fingers, forcing his eyes to meet hers. She mouthed words of encouragement and things he should say. 

"It's Ian. I called because I... I had a shit day. Uh, call the... place... if you'd like to show you give half a shit. Bye, man." He dropped the phone onto the desk recklessly, making it clatter loudly. 

 "Someone who loves me, huh?" He muttered, stuffing himself back down into his chair. 

She put the phone back onto its reciever with a sigh. Not only was Ian making his rode to recovery difficult but so was his brother Lip. Ian tried to call every other day but he hasn't heard from his brother once. Ian said its because Lip says he turned into their useless mother, Monica. Lip never forgave Monica and he'd never forgive Ian. 

 "Ian, he's probably coping with your absence." 

Ian scoffed.

"Okay," She rose from her chair and came around the desk, leaning across from Ian and crossing her legs at the ankles. "You need to open the fuck up, kid. You're wasting my god damn time and your own. I'm trying to get you out but after what we found in your room last week and your anti-group streak its becoming highly unlikely." Last week they'd found all of Ian's medication under his mattress.

Ian stared wide eyed at the pantsuited woman. "I-"

"If the next words out of your mouth aren't significant enough for me to write in your file then you need to fucking rethink, Ian Gallagher." 

Ian's mouth opened and closed. He hadn't expected her to actually fight back against his shit head act. "A guy-" He swallowed. "Told me I should kill myself because I was-" He put his head down and mumbled the next words. 

"Ian." She warned like a mother scolding a toddler.

"Because I was filthy. His words. We were supposed to be talking about a time in our lives where we were scared, where we thought we were trapped and exposed. I said when Lip found out when I was gay. This guy then told me I was filthy for who I was. The group head said nothing, just moved on to the fucking cat."

She rounded to her desk again, quickly picking up her pen. "I didn't know you were gay." 

"Not something someone can actually admit to without being slandered." Ian spit out the words.

"Who's your group leader? They shouldn't have let a death threat slide."

"It doesn't matter." 

She rolled her eyes, pulling a form from her side desk. "I'm placing you in a new group. It may not be for bi-" she stopped the word. Ian hated that word. "You. But it's your age group. Just give this to your morning nurse. Got it, kid?" She extended the pink slip over her desk. 

He eyed the paper but snatched it from her grip. "Some of the boys come from the outside, some of them live here as well. Try to make some friends, alright, Gallagher?" 

"Yeah. Alright."

\----

"Rise and shine, Red!" Ian felt hot breath on his ear.

"Gracie, how do you always get in here?" Ian sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. He'd stopped having mini heart attacks when Gracie snuck into his room every morning by week two at the institution.

She giggled and twisted her fingers together. Ian never understood how a girl like her, always giggling and rosy cheeked, found herself in the suicide wing of a mental institution. 

"Hey, Red, wanna go to breakfast together?" 

Ian cringed at the nickname. "Can't. Group."

She smiled wider. "Silly, we don't have group till after lunch!" 

He shook his head. "I'm in a different group now." 

Her smile dropped. "Wh-? Why?" She pinched at the soft skin at the elbow crease of her arm. Ian watched her fingertips go white, the skin between turning frightfully red. 

"Uh, I'll still see you though, Gracie." 

"Did you leave group because of me?" Her face went blank, tears shining in her eyes.

"Hey, hey. No." Ian reached beside himself, feeling for the button built into the side of his bed frame. Gracie was about to have a full blown melt down in his room- he could tell. He pushed the button. "Just settle down."

Her breathing started to deepen. 

Ian's door opened and two male nurses grabbed at Gracie's shoulders. She stayed like a statue, breathing deeply and staring into Ian's soul, as they dragged her out.

\----

"Hello, boys. Who wants to start?" 

Mickey was pissed off but he figures that's why he's fucking here in the first place. The boy next to him raised his hand.

"Thank you, Greg. What do you have to say?"

"Well, yesterday at school..." Mickey let his voice trail off. Lucky fucker got to leave everyday. He never thought he'd every think this, but shit he misses school. Fuck, he even misses his shithole of a room. 

"How about you, Mick-" The group leader was thankfully cut off by the stage's back door opening. 

"Sorry I'm late. I didn't know that this was held in the auditorium." A redhead, dressed in a pale blue t-shirt and black sweat pants with a bleach stain up the left leg, said closing the door he'd just walked through. "My other group was in the rec room." He continued as he walked closer to the circle, a pink paper in his hand. It reminded Mickey of the referrals he used to receive in school.

He handed the paper to Lynch, the group leader. "Ah, welcome, Ian. I've heard about you. Tough one to crack." 

Ian blushed and dragged over a chair from the side of the stage, pushing it between Mickey and Greg. 

"Well good news, I'm not in this business to be a bank burgler and crack your safe without your permission. You can speak whenever you feel free to open up. It just makes my like easier if you do it soon; more good news for you is we're here to make your life easier. Not mine."

Ian nodded. 

"Now, Mickey. You were up."

Mickey dragged his eyes from the redhead slumped in the chair next to him. 

"Uh. I don't know. I just want to get out of here." He bit the cuticle of this thumb.

"You have to show progress. Beating someone up at lunch because they stole your jello is not progress, Milkovich." 

Mickey noticed Ian straighten up at the sound of his last name. 

"Fucker deserved it." 

"That's not progress either." Some of the group mates started to chuckle.

"Whatever." Mickey crossed his arms.

Lynch rolled his eyes and moved onto the next boy.

\----

"I'd like to say something." 

Mickeys head swiveled to the side. 

"Go ahead Ian."

Mickey hadn't expected the new guy to be talking so soon. It'd taken Mickey a week for them to even get him to say his whole name.

Ian scratched the back of his neck. "Well, I've noticed that you all are AM patients," he said AM instead of Anger Management because he knew sometimes saying what was wrong with someone was a trigger for them. Like the word bipolar was to him. "I just wanted everyone to know that I'm not. I was switched out of my, uh, Suicide Attempts group." He looked around at each boy, looking for negative reactions. Mickey's eyes traveled over the boy's pale skin looking for scars or sign of self conflict. 

"I also have a bipolar disorder. I have to take medication everyday to stay normal or else I'll act really wired or get, well, suicidal." Ian clapped his hands together in his lap once. "That's it. That's all I have to say."

"Thank you, Ian. That was very brave."

Ian nodded. Mickey stared at him, biting his lip. He wondered what his story actually was with none of those medical terms. With real words, like fuck, and real feelings.

He zoned out the rest of the circle. Ian turned, feeling eyes on him. He smiled when he met Mickey's clear blue eyes. 

Mickey was determined to hear this redhead's story.


	2. The AMs and the Crazies

"I heard you participated this morning."

Ian nodded as he cracked his knuckles. 

"What do you think made you speak?" 

Ian shrugged. "I don't know. The other guys seemed to trust the group leader."

"So you followed along?" 

"I guess." 

She nodded, uncrossing her legs and placing her elbows on her desk. "Today I want you to tell me about your friends from home." 

Ian stood up, walking lazily around the room and touching the books on the bookshelves. "I never really had many friends." 

"Who'd you spend most of your time with then?" 

"My family. In the South side that's all you really have." He read the book titles in his head, trying to remember some of them for later when Fiona called to ask if he needed anything.

 She nodded, writing in her pad. "How do you feel about what happened to Ms. Ortiz?" 

"I don't know." Ian turned toward her, leaning a shoulder against the bookshelf. "She's crazy." 

The therapist clicked her tongue at him. "For someone that hates being called crazy you seem to throw the word around recklessly." 

He took a small paperback novel off the shelf. "Yeah, well, I'm actually normal." 

She rolled her eyes as he shoved the book in his pocket.

\----

"Hello, boys." 

Ian didn't have to drag a chair from the side this time. There were exactly seven chairs now. 

"I'm going to request something from you guys today." Lynch leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees. He pushed his glasses up his nose. "I want you guys to share the event that got you here. If it's too much just say pass. Got it?" 

No one moved to raise their hand. 

"Come on, guys." He paused, hoping someone would start speaking. "Okay. Fine. Greg? Go."

Greg sat up in his chair, scratching his scruffy cheek. "Well, I, uh, got in a fight with my girl..." Ian bit his lip. He'd hit his girlfriend. All Ian could do was imagine his sisters being hit by Greg, a giant, thick, football player type. He closed his eyes as Greg continued to explain the situation. Maybe having group with the AMs was a wrong choice. 

The next guy, Carlos, had thrown a desk at his teacher.

"Mickey. You don't have to if you're uncomfortable." Ian eyes traveled across Mickey's features; the boy was glaring at Lynch. Clearly the group leader knew his story.

"It's not like I'm fuckin' scared." _Liar,_ Ian thought.

"Mickey, that's not what I meant. You know that. Are you going to share or not?"

Mickey licked his lips, causing Ian to do so as well. "Fine." He stretched out his legs in front of himself and leaned back in his chair, making himself bigger like an animal's defense mechanism.

"I, uh, I came home from school one day and my dad was sitting on the couch on the front lawn- yeah, we're so trashy that we got a couch outside." Some of the boys laughed, even Mickey smiled a bit. "Anyway, my dads sittin' there and when he finally sees me, he throws a glass bottle at me- once again, so classy us Milkoviches." He swipes at his bottom lip with his thumb. "So, uh, I walk passed him, probably threw a 'fuck you' over my shoulder, and went in the house. When I got to the kitchen though, that's when shit hit the fan." Ian felt himself lean closer. He knew something shocking was about to happen, he could feel it. "On the kitchen table were my stories, all torn up. I write short stories about lives I wish I had. Shit, about lives I know I'll never have." Some of the boys nodded. "But there's one thing about my stories." He waved a finger in the air, a sour look on his face. "That my father would _never_ let me have, _never_ let me be at peace with." Ian's heart was pounding. "I'm-" Mickey's eyes darted around to the other guys; Lynch gave him an encouraging nod. "I'm, uhh," 

"Me too so just say it." Ian spoke out.

Mickey looked directly at Ian, figuring he's the easiest person to say it to. "Gay."

One of the group mates whistled. And another one said "Well shit, just end the story. We all know your dad tried to fuck you up now."

Mickey turned his attention back to the rest of the group. "No. That's not what happened. I went out there and I don't know... I just saw red. Him finally finding out broke something in me. Beat him on the front lawn till the cops came and even then they had to pry me off." Mickey looked distant, you could almost see blood and police lights flashing in his eyes. 

"Good job, Mick." Lynch was proud.

Mickey nodded.

"Ian? I'm sure your story isn't as gruesome."

Ian shook his head. "Suicide will always be gruesome." Mickey shivered. He couldn't quite grasp how the beautiful redhead had meant to end everything.

"My family tried to hold on to me in my high stage, just made sure I didn't do anything too wild. But to be honest, becoming a go-go boy is pretty wild." One boy chuckled imagining Ian dancing on a pole. "Then when I crashed they gave me my mother's medication." 

"But wouldn't your mom need it?" Carlos butted in.

"She ran away. Besides, she never took them anyway." 

The group got silent waiting for Ian to continue.

"Her dosage wasn't high enough so I was beyond unstable. I would lay in bed for weeks. But one day my little sister Debbie got me up, shoved me in the shower. It was over whelming, I just wanted it all to be done with. Everything was so shitty, ya know? So, I took my sisters razor from the shower. A pink plastic razor." He let out a bitter laugh. "It didn't really even work. Took me five minutes to just break the skin. But when my brother came in a minute later to check on me, I guess it was a wake up call for them." 

That's not what Mickey had expected. Ian hadn't said fuck once.

"Well we're all glad they realized soon enough. Thank you, Ian."

\----

Ian had to get back to his room to take his pills before lights out. He'd spent all day at the pond with Debbie on visiting hours. She hadn't mentioned Lip, but he hadn't expected her to.

He guessed the fact that he wore slippers everywhere singled him out as a Crazie but he couldn't help it. The soles of his puffy, blue slippers squeaked against the white tiles.

When he reached his hall, the guard behind the protection glass buzzed him in.

Leaning against his door in a bad boy pose was Mickey Milkovich.

"An AM in the Crazies hall. How refreshing." Ian said, batting Mickey to the side and opening his door.

"Are those nicknames legit?"

"No, but you'll call us crazy anyway so who's stoppin' me?" He fell back on to his bed as Mickey leaned against the door frame.

"I wanted to thank you for earlier. About the whole gay thing." Mickey scratched at the back of his neck, embarrassed.

"No problem." He bounced up, the old bed screeching underneath him. He made his way to a little metal door built into the wall. He opened it, a small tube dropped out of the shoot. He took it out, opening the lip of the canister. "The door auto locks when you close it. Just say you're me to the guy if you don't want to wait outside next time. It buzzes you in here as well."

Mickey watched as Ian swallowed two pills dry. "Was kind of hoping I could take you somewhere right now." 

Ian shook his head, falling onto his bed again. "Number one, lights out is lights out in this wing." He put up one finger then put up another one, making a peace sign. "Number two, jus because I help you come out to some scary fuckers doesn't mean I'll go on a little midnight date with you." 

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Says they guy that practically invited me back to his room whenever I please." 

Ian kicked off his slippers, one hitting Mickey's leg. "You make a good point." He looked over at the silver door. He'd already taken his pills, what could an hour of lost sleep do to him? And his therapist had told him to make friends... "Fine." 

Mickey grinned. 

"You're the happiest AM I've ever seen, I swear." 

They walked down the hallway side by side.

"You're the most normal Crazie that I've met, I swear." 

They walked in silence. 

"Oh fancy." Ian said when they reached the cafeteria door. 

Mickey pulled out an employee key card, swiping it on the pad beside the door. The green door clicked open, pushing forward.

He grabbed the handle. " I come here every night." He whispered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter twooooo. Leave me a comment or kudos! Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Leave me a comment or kudos because I love you. Also if you're feeling dandy- leave me a prompt at like-em-sweet.tumblr.com or at mickovichandmumbles.tumblr.com.


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